


The essential is invisible to the eye.

by Discontinuous Qualia (Sechzehn)



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Akechi Goro Lives, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, Postcards, Somewhat, You just have to squint a little, shuake
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-11-27 03:16:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20941394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sechzehn/pseuds/Discontinuous%20Qualia
Summary: A series of anonymous postcards brings Ren to question himself and the importance of what is unseen.The address on the postcard depicting the face of a clock is that of Café Leblanc; the lower line reads the recipient's name, written in kanji so hurried that it almost gives the impression of being the work of a different person. Ren knows that way of writing, he saw it in the corner of a half-incomplete crossword puzzle, left to itself among the tables of the room waiting to find who would solve its mystery.





	The essential is invisible to the eye.

**Author's Note:**

> I feel like I'm being somewhat blasphemous using a quote of that little wonder that is "The Little Prince" as a title for a fanfiction, but I guess that it's also kinda blasphemous using quotes of famous writers for a similar purpose, so yay, blasphemy!  
This has been the result of an enlightening chat with Qwerty From Wilde that made my mind go "if you don't write this NOW, you'll never will" so here I am.  
I owe a huge thanks to SkyObserver as well, who has pointed out some flaws in the... plot and gave me very useful hints to save this small story.  
All of this was born from the fact that in the official artbook of the game is stated that Akechi would like to travel the world after the end of high school and before entering college and, since I think that traveling is one of the most beautiful things in the world and one of the most effective ways to feel free, I very arbitrarily decided that this should have been Akechi's "starting point" after the events of the game.

_"Oui, le monde est trop petit pour qu'ils ne se rencontreront pas."_

The way the words are written is slightly messy, vaguely uncertain but has a note of elegance that could never go unnoticed by a careful eye.

The address on the postcard depicting the face of a clock is that of Café Leblanc; the lower line reads the recipient's name, written in kanji so hurried that it almost gives the impression of being the work of a different person. Ren knows that way of writing, he saw it in the corner of a half-incomplete crossword puzzle, left to itself among the tables of the room waiting to find who would solve its mystery.  
He does not know, however, the meaning of those words belonging to an unknown language, but a part of him fails to repress the persistent feeling of having already heard them.

Sōjiro, who always seems to be a step ahead of him in grasping things, orders him to clock out earlier than usual, adducing the excuse of the half-empty room. Perhaps, from that cold December day, he realized that he too enjoys playing detective.

§

The second postcard arrives almost a month later. On that autumn afternoon, fortunately, Makoto is with him, back in Tokyo to spend a weekend with her friends and her sister. The beautiful image depicts a building with a dark green door and brass numbers affixed to the wall: 221B.

Once again the feeling that rises from his chest and warms his body is familiar - perhaps he should cover himself more, to avoid these bizarre phenomena. Makoto's gaze lights up with the light of recognition and the words that come out of her mouth are as illuminating as ever.

"Are your parents in London?"

Ren shoots her a confused look and Morgana - who emerges from his bag full of college books - slightly tilts his head in a way that he knows is not unlike his own.

"London?"

"The one in the picture is the 221B of Baker Street, in London. The home of Sherlock Holmes, the detective written by Arthur Conan Doyle. I didn't imagine your parents were so happy with the path you chose."

Although his family - strangely - hasn’t complained about his will to dedicate himself to the study of criminal psychology, Ren believes he doesn’t have the mental strength to tell Makoto that, according to the date of the postmark, in those days his parents were in Venezuela, taking a most deserved break after having been awake for two days in a row to save a child from death by tetanus.

_"The best way to successfully act a part is to be it."_

He doesn’t need to make a comparison to know that he would find those same narrow and slightly inclined letters even behind that beautiful picture of the D'Orsay Museum in charming Paris.

Of people who have taken on a thousand faces to assert their own justice Ren has read in abundance, lived the life of the criminal in more than one of its facets, but what is more obscure to him is what lies behind the figure of a detective. Perhaps they too are pursuing a justice that is different from the conventional ones in order to uncover the truth.

Perhaps - to trap their prey - they too must delve into the way of the outlaws.

§

"Do you think it's really him?"

"Well, certainly it’s not my parents or Sōjiro. And I'd say we can also exclude Morgana, considering that without opposable thumbs he can't write."

"Ren."

"I don't know, Ann. Strictly speaking, it's impossible, he's ..."

Ann's cerulean gaze fills with understanding. "We can't be sure. And sorry, but… since when the word 'impossible' is part of your vocabulary?" The slightly red-tinted lips bend upwards and Ren believes that his friend's smile deserves the covers of all the magazines in the world. "You literally shot a god, after all, so I don't see why he can't be alive."

Perhaps because when they escaped Shido Masayoshi’s collapsing Palace he wasn’t with them in front of the Diet Palace. with his tired smile and sarcasm in his voice. Perhaps because Niijima Sae and all his confidants, despite their research, failed to find any trace of him. Perhaps because the world has forgotten the name of Akechi Goro as if he had never existed in the first place.

"But Futaba..."

"Futaba is a genius, but she is still a human being. Furthermore, we never had the opportunity to fully understand how Metaverse worked, as her mother's research was destroyed so as not to end up in the wrong hands again. We don't know what happens to a human who remains trapped in a Palace or the limits of the power of Futaba’s Persona."

He doesn't know why he insists on not agreeing with Ann, who even managed to calm down Ryuji's hot spirits in his worst moments. A discussion with her or with Makoto is a certain defeat, but Ren doesn't want to give in, doesn't want to believe.

“Don’t make such a face, you look like Ryuji when he drinks coffee”, she teases him pushing the incriminated card towards him.

This time his mysterious "one-way correspondent" - as Sojiro likes to call them - has produced something different from the standards to which they have accustomed him to in the past three months. His postcard is nothing but a photo with a messily pasted stamp on the back and both the address and significant words are just black ink on white, slightly smudged at the corners.

_“Libertà va cercando, ch’è sì cara,  
come sa chi per lei vita rifiuta.”_

The photograph - despite the evident feeling put into the gesture - is obviously something amateur. The shot is slightly crooked and, according to Ann, it would have made a better impression with a bit of twinking with brightness and contrast, as well as with the intensity of the colors but Ren, for some reason, believes that it would have been much worse if it had been a representation of artificial perfection. There is something in the way the sunset sky reflects on the murky water of the river and makes the colors of the houses that overlook it warmer that offers a mixture of solitude and comfort.

"Florence, huh?", Ann says aloud, absentmindedly torturing a lock of hair, her eyes lost in something Ren can't see. "I was there once as a child with my parents, but I still remember how beautiful the view of the Arno River from Ponte Vecchio was."

A photo taken on a bridge and a landscape devoid of people. It could be a metaphor for life, he thinks: sometimes being on top of the world means being alone but sometimes loneliness is a means to find freedom. After all, he himself, two years earlier, had found himself alone in a huge and unknown city, with his reputation as a violent criminal as an indelible mark on his face but that form of isolation was the thread that weaved the wonderful bond he shares with his friends.

And despite everything Akechi Goro might have said and the regretful way he expressed the desire to have met him before, Ren never stopped thinking that they are tied in a far deeper and more indissoluble way than they can imagine: even if the Metaverse doesn’t exist anymore he can still perceive the strength of the Arcana that has united them, that same force that - like a prick in the heart - hurts every time he rethinks the unjust and cruel fate that fell on him.

At least, in one way or another, they are now both free.

§

"I found this in the mailbox."

Sojiro hands him a brightly colored piece of paper, a swirl of blues, greens and yellows. The corners are slightly crumpled and wet from the torrential rain that hit Tokyo, but otherwise it doesn't seem to have suffered further damage.

"Oh, what a wonderful sight I laid my eyes on!" Yusuke, from the height of his stature, ecstatically observes the picture in his hands, a starry sky that he is sure he has seen somewhere on television or on the internet.

"Do you know what is it?"

Yusuke emits an indignant sound, recomposing himself after a moment under his and Sojiro’s curious gaze. "This is the ‘Starry Night’ by Vincent Van Gogh, currently exhibited at the Museum of Modern Arts in New York. The one who sent you such a gift has a sublime taste if I am allowed to judge. "

"It's wonderful, even if looking at it causes me mixed emotions."

An expression of approval replaces that of disappointment on the artist’s face. Sometimes he cannot help but be surprised by the way emotions seem to be internalized and experienced with immense fervor by the other. "Art is born to move something in people's minds. If this painting arouses a certain turmoil in you, probably who chose this painting knew they could communicate something with it. "

"Communicate something?", he asks, frowning slightly.

"You must not forget how art is also a form of communication, Ren. Those who paint bare their souls in the hope of being able to understand themselves and be understood by those who are looking at it. There is no greater satisfaction for an artist than seeing their emotions reaching the public." Yusuke pauses for a moment, narrowing his eyes as if to concentrate on something. "However, I am also of the opinion that in a piece art everyone can see a part of themselves, so it is not to be excluded that the sender would like to show you something about himself. What do you see in this painting? "

"Looking at it makes me uneasy," he confesses. If Sojiro - apparently engaged in tidying up the kitchen- is listening, he doesn’t show it. "On a side it’s like seeing the Metaverse, a distorted version of reality but on the other, in this distorted perception, there is still a concrete link with what I see in the actual world. It’s as if the author of the painting had recognized and accepted the distortion within themselves, deciding not to compromise with the truth. "

He didn’t notice how he had lowered his gaze, but when he looks up Yusuke is observing him with a smile that reflects the cryptic nature of his personality. "As I thought your perspective is very interesting. It would certainly be enlightening to be able to have a conversation about it with you and the sender of this gift, but I'm afraid I should hurry to reach Futaba before the weather gets even worse.”

As if to underline the words of his friend, a flash further illuminates Leblanc, followed immediately by the roar of thunder. The typhoon announced for days on television has hit Tokyo since the afternoon and the weather conditions have become increasingly severe with the passing of hours.

"Where do you think you're going without an umbrella, boy?"

"I think I already said it, I'm headed to your dau-"

Sojiro sighs in frustration, managing to get a smile out of Ren. The goodness of the heart of his landlord never fails to live up to its reputation. "I know. I’m saying that I’m offering you a ride under my umbrella to my home because if I don't particularly approve of your relationship with Futaba, I approve even less the possibility of you... sneezing and weezing in her proximity. "

A laugh is on the verge of escaping from Ren’s lips, but it’s nipped in the bud by the rather sudden and abrupt recommendation to close the shop.

It’s only when the ringing of Leblanc’s door is lost among the howls of wind and rain that Ren remembers to give a look at the back of the photograph. Slightly smeared by water, black on white, ideograms in a now-familiar handwriting gaze back at him.

_目 に 見 え て る_  
も の だ け が  
全 て じ ゃ な い 

_"The things the eye can see are not everything."_

§

That night he is awakened by a decidedly agitated Morgana. His eyes shine like blue lanterns in the dark of the attic periodically illuminated by the light of lightning, but his fur - black like the shadow of the night - is standing on his back, as are the ears on his head.

"Ren, someone is trying to break into the shop."

"Huh?"

"There are strange noises downstairs as if someone were trying to force the door of Leblanc. "

The answer drives away what remains of the daze of sleep, prompting Ren to be awake and alert.

"Were you able to see who it was?"

The light switch snaps several times under the pressure of his fingers, but a few attempts are enough to make him assess how the typhoon has caused a blackout.

"No, it seems that all of Yongen had been left in the dark and even with the light of lightning I couldn't see his face very well."

"Go and warn Sojiro," he orders almost firmly. For a moment it's like being back in the Metaverse. "I will try to capture the intruder."

He acknowledges the recklessness of the gesture, but for him, Leblanc is home and will not allow anyone to violate it another time. His fingers tighten around a baseball bat, the same one that the owner of the batting cage gave him after he scored his first home run.

"Are you sure?"

"You can rest assured, Mona."

§

The wooden stairs creak beneath his feet, but, even from the last few steps, he is able to see the dark shape that the light of lightning sets against the glass door. Ren moves cautiously, flanking the tables, using darkness in his favor.

Whoever is hiding in the dark of night is certainly not trying to infiltrate the shop, he notes with some surprise. The figure knocks with renewed urgency, as if aware of his presence. The small sounds of knocking that Morgana has mistaken for an attempted break-in drown in the roar of thunder that pierces the silence with such violence to make the floor vibrate, the light illuminating for a moment the narrow streets of Yongen-Jaya.

The baseball bat falls to the floor with a thud but Ren is at the door almost before it can touch the floor. Maybe he's finally going crazy. Perhaps he too, like Van Gogh, is prey to a hallucinogenic madness that distorts reality without the need for mysterious applications but when he opens the door and a soaked and trembling figure enters with almost reverential fear into Leblanc, he decrees that he doesn't care.

In the almost blinding light of the torch of his phone camera, Akechi Goro is not too different from how he remembers him. Now they have the same height and the uniform of who knows which prestigious school in Tokyo has given way to a trench coat that is probably as wet as a dishrag. Brown hair dripping with water, slightly shorter than they are in his memories, frame a pale, more angular face. If in the past one had to be blind not to say that the Detective Prince was undoubtedly handsome, now his beauty has something more refined, less dazzling, as if time and events had turned it into something he knows that only a certain eye can appreciate.

"... I’m home."

A trickle of water descends from the hair, crossing a sharp cheekbone, leaving a silver trail on a cheek, gently following the curve of the chin and then dissipating into the darkness. Goro's face isn’t smiling, his expression is different - more mature than that of the eighteen-year-old charmer of the crowds of two years before - but undoubtedly his - true, authentic. Just that is enough to give him the certainty that the one in front of him is the _real_ Akechi Goro.

Ren steps forward, his bare feet padding on the polished wooden floor. Despite the ghostly light, Goro's eyes are fixed on his and for once he almost doesn't know what to say, what to do. He swallows the bitter lump in his throat to break into the hint of a smile, Joker and Ren together under the favor of darkness.

"You're... terribly late."

**Author's Note:**

> The quotes I used, all in their original language, have been respectively taken from: "Arséne Lupin vs. Herlock Sholmes" by Maurice Leblanc, "The Adventure Of The Dying Detective" by Arthur Conan Doyle, "The Divine Comedy (Purgatory)" by Dante Alighieri and, dulcis in fundo, the lyrics of "Hoshi To Bokura To", Persona 5's ending theme.
> 
> As for the places/things depicted in the postcards we have: the clock of D'Orsay Museum in Paris, the 221B in Baker Street (London), the sight on the Arno river from the top of Ponte Vecchio in Florence and, of course, the "Starry Night" painted by Vincent Van Gogh.
> 
> If you want to fangirl with me over ShuAke or P5 in general, or simply stay updated on what I write you can find me on Twitter: [Discontinuous Qualia](https://twitter.com/discqualia)


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